


teach me, mr. lincoln

by MalcolmTucker



Category: Ookiku Furikabutte | Big Windup!
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Breathplay, Car Sex, Dirty Talk, M/M, Phone Sex, abe is condemned to suffer, haruna is a little shit, student haruna is the bane of abe's life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-09
Updated: 2015-11-09
Packaged: 2018-04-30 17:59:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5173739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MalcolmTucker/pseuds/MalcolmTucker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Hiya, Sensei.</i><br/>Abe rolls his eyes, ready to put the phone down on the table when it buzzes in his hands again.<br/><i>What kinda stuff do you get up to on Friday nights?</i><br/>His phone buzzes again.<br/><i>Do you like to do normal stuff? Hang out with friends? Watch TV? Pick up girls and have raunchy one night stands?</i><br/>Abe scowls, face pinching at the assumption that he feels Haruna isn’t entitled to make. He and Haruna aren’t friends. And he’s one of his students. He shouldn’t be allowed to talk to him like this. Abe resolutely decides not to respond.<br/><i>Or do you lie in your bed alone and think of me?</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	teach me, mr. lincoln

i.

“Wait—” Abe says, as he hurriedly tugs off his tie, “Haruna-kun—Motoki—just—” but Haruna is already pressing his hands to his chest, shoving him backwards, Abe’s thighs hitting the edge of the desk.

“Abe-sensei,” Haruna practically purrs, the pads of his fingers skating over Abe’s waist when he shoves them under his shirt, _“Takaya.”_

Abe’s face twists up into a sour expression, the last bit of his teacherly instincts bristling to life. Haruna’s grinning at him. He’s so…annoying. He’s impudent. He’s. Maddening. Abe finds his words stuttering around in his head like angry hornets because Haruna is doing something with his tongue against his neck that feels so. It feels good, Abe decides because suddenly his hands are working and looping the tie around Haruna’s throat and then he’s in charge again. He’s turning them around, he’s gripping his ass, he’s pressing him into the mahogany of the desk and pulling the fabric taut as Haruna grins at him like a loon. His face is going beet red and Abe longs for it to go redder. He pulls tighter.

“Insolent,” Abe says when his mind slips, “Don’t call me that. I told you not to call me that.” Haruna’s wheezing out a laugh and Abe leans in to rip it off his lips. His tongue is in Haruna’s open mouth and then Haruna’s hands are slipping off his chest and fisting at the back of his shirt. One of his legs is around Abe’s waist and Abe growls, _really_ growls, feels like an animal.

He likes it. His teeth are tugging down Haruna’s lip and biting dark marks into his neck and collarbone and scraping over his jaw and all the while he pulls and pulls and pulls at the cloth around Haruna’s neck. There’s tears at the corners of Haruna’s eyes but his mouth is a slackened smile and Abe loves it. He fucking loves it. And that makes him mad.

Abe releases the knot in the tie, pulls Haruna by the hair to drag his head back so he can press more dusky marks into his skin with his teeth.

“I’m in charge,” Abe hisses, breathy, as his teeth latch on to the skin beneath Haruna’s ear. “Say my name.”

Haruna can’t say his name. Can’t even breathe under the crushing force of the tie that Abe has reworked around his windpipe. “Say it,” Abe says, and he’s letting go, tugging the knot loose and casting the tie on to the floor and pressing his tongue to the grooves and gorgeous blossoming bruises fanning out across the little shit’s throat.

“Abe- _sensei_ ,” Haruna croaks, his voice rasping, scraping against Abe’s ears. Like nails on a chalkboard. Getting under his skin, an itch he can’t quite scratch.

“God,” Abe mutters under his breath, his fingers hook into the top of Haruna’s uniform pants and _jerk_. The button pops as they’re shoved down, down, down his already spread thighs and Abe’s got a hand into the back of his pants before the laughter erupts from the boy’s throat.

“Yes, I am,” he laughs, and Abe sets about to shut him up.

ii.

Takaya’s fucked. He’s out drinking with his friends, his old teammates and it’s Friday night. There’s no school tomorrow, thank God, he can’t teach another class with a hangover, he doesn’t want to see that _little_ —

“Abe-kun,” Mihashi peeps from beside him, looking no different than he did when they were kids except maybe for a darker flush on his cheeks from the bit of alcohol in him. Still a lightweight, Abe notes with a fond smile so small he’d be able to deny it if asked. Chalk it up to the drink.

“Yeah?” he replies, raising his ninth beer to his tingling lips. There’s a sweet chime of laughter bubbling up from Mihashi’s throat, just as soft as he is, so honest.

“Y-your face. If you keep frowning like that…it’ll get stuck that way,” the corners of Mihashi’s mouth are tipped up in a miniscule smile and Abe huffs a laugh into the neck of his beer, relaxing the scowl he’s been wearing ever since he started trying to drown out thoughts of his pest.

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, his hand jutting out to ruffle the unruly mass of fluff that Mihashi calls hair. His hand lingers there for a few seconds and he blames his drunkenness for the way that it reminds him of silky black locks beneath his fingers. He can almost hear the laughter to match. He lets go of Mihashi’s hair because he’s realising it now, how totally smashed he is. Must be with the thought he’s just had.

“I’ve gotta go,” Abe says, hastily, standing so quickly that he sways and Mihashi’s hand reaches out to catch his wrist and steady him. His eyes are alight with worry and curiosity. He knows Abe. He always knows Abe. Knows something is off. He looks like he wants to speak, the way he nervously worries at his lip and it in turn makes Abe tense. Abe blames the alcohol, he does, when he half snaps, “Do you want something?”

Mihashi doesn’t flinch. He’s different now, and so is Abe, and Abe is glad for it. “Your neck,” Mihashi says in lieu of answering. Abe’s fingers twitch before flying up to touch the exposed bruise on the side of his throat like an emblem. He knows exactly what Mihashi is talking about, knows exactly where it is on his slightly sweat damp skin. He’s looked at it (and the clusters of others) in the mirror enough times to know where the edges of it lie, where the darkest, most tender part of it is before he even presses down to make sure it’s still there. Abe eyes Mihashi with caution, wonders how to respond, to deflect it and shrug it off. But he’s drunk and he blames the alcohol, _he blames the alcohol_ —“What about it?”

He cranes his neck in a way that further exposes the bruises, subtly shows them off like a brand and if Haruna had been here, he’d have been laughing himself silly, would have cackled until the room was rife with the tension of his humour. Abe can almost feel his voice slinking against the skin of his throat and in the shell of his ear, can hear him saying, “Touchy, Abe- _sensei_. Are you _ashamed_ of them?” And Abe, somewhere in a slur of and under his breath tumbles out the words, “Not hardly.”

“I’m sorry?” Mihashi says, his eyes wide and open, leaning in to catch Abe’s words.

“I said goodnight, Ren.”

Abe ruffles his hair a few times as Mihashi fixes him with a cautious smile and a mumbled, “Goodnight, Takaya.”

iii.

Abe’s rolling into his bed less than an hour later after giving up on a shower because he was too smashed to work the knobs. He doesn’t know how he got back, really. There’s a faint memory of saying goodnight to his friends and then he was paying for a taxi and then suddenly he was in his apartment. How he managed to unlock the door is at once a mystery and a blessing. He’s falling asleep, the white noise and the steady spinning of the room feeling enough like rocking to make him gear less towards being seasick and more towards fitful, drunken resting. But then his phone’s going off and he’s groping for it with a quiet roar as he taps the screen to check who the _fuck_ is texting him. He knows. Even through his haze, he knows. The light hurts his eyes and he turns the brightness on his screen down to an acceptable level before he reads the text.

_Hiya, Sensei._

Abe rolls his eyes, ready to put the phone down on the table when it buzzes in his hands again.

_What kinda stuff do you get up to on Friday nights?_

His phone buzzes again.

_Do you like to do normal stuff? Hang out with friends? Watch TV? Pick up girls and have raunchy one night stands?_

Abe scowls, face pinching at the assumption that he feels Haruna isn’t entitled to make. He and Haruna aren’t friends. And he’s one of his students. He shouldn’t be allowed to talk to him like this. Abe resolutely decides not to respond.

_Or do you lie in your bed alone and think of me?_

“Little fuck,” Abe hisses, immediately going back on his word and sliding open his phone to tap out a response.

I don’t think of you, Abe writes back immediately. A lie, of course. He does think of him. He thinks of him, much to his irritation, almost constantly. Can hardly think of anything else when everything in his vicinity is a lingering reminder of Haruna’s presence. When he’s grading papers the image of Haruna draped carelessly naked over them flashes before his eyes. When he’s doing lesson plans there’s Haruna, posed picturesque across his desk in the classroom, legs folded neatly over each other as he smirks at him, taunting, _Why do you need to do a lesson plan when you can just do me?_ When Abe’s on calls with parents there’s the memory of Haruna blowing him during a phone call with a mother concerned about how her son was doing in Abe’s class. Abe, upon recalling these things, realises he’s failed as a teacher. And, well, as a person really. He’s really, really fucked up.

_Sure you don’t._

Abe vaguely wonders when Haruna got his number. Or how he got his number. Or how the fuck it was already programmed into his phone, because the name Motoki came up on his screen every time he got a text. He must have nabbed it when Abe wasn’t looking. What a deviant. He’ll have to get punished for that. There’s ropes and rulers flashing through Abe’s mind before he realises how fucked up that is, how fucked up it is that he doesn’t think about casting Haruna into detention for invading his privacy but about private punishment to get himself off. Shit.

_My world doesn’t revolve around you_ , Abe snaps out, and the response is almost immediate.

_Uhuh._

Abe’s had enough. He’s had enough. He’s still dizzy from the alcohol, his mouth feels cottony and loose and he’s pressing the dial button before he can clear his head and think half-straight.

“Listen up, punk,” Abe starts, cutting himself off immediately as soon as he hears Haruna moan over the line.

“Carry on,” he says, breathless, laughing, _mocking_ , “I’m listening, _sensei_.”

“I—how the fuck am I supposed to ‘carry on’ when you’re…while we’re on the phone?” Abe sounds distressed. Probably because there’s arousal blooming in his stomach and panic setting in because he feels like he’s about to make a very, very bad decision. Not that calling Haruna in the first place wasn’t one. He just has this feeling, this gut instinct telling him that this is about to take a turn for the worse.

“Your world doesn’t revolve around me, right? Just pretend like I’m not here. _Ah_ ,” Haruna sighs out a moan that sounds like sweet relief and Abe’s had enough.

“Cut that shit out.”

“You know, you’ve got a pretty foul mouth for a teacher.”

“Yeah? I can get worse.”

“Can you?”

It sounds like a challenge. No, it sounds like a _trap_. Haruna’s fucking _baited_ him, just like he always does. Pushing Abe’s buttons and getting on his nerves until he snaps, charges right into the cage that Haruna sets out for him before he perches on top of it and rattles the bars. Abe must be stupid or brain damaged because he falls for it. He falls for it every time. And even when he knows, even though he knows he’s stepped right into a bear trap, can feel it clamping around his ankle until the bone snaps, he continues on. “You’re very stubborn,” Mihashi had said to him once, when he’d pulled a muscle and tried to storm back out onto the field and the team had wrestled him back down onto the bench and Momoe had pressed ice into his knee and gripped his head to force him to sit out the rest of the game.

“I can,” Abe says, “but I won’t. I’m not gonna play this game with you, Motoki.”

“You sound drunk, sensei. So I guess you do make the most of your weekends, eh?”

“That’s none of your business,” Abe growls when he can’t deny the fact that he’s drunk. Which, shit. If Haruna picked up on it, that means he must sound really bad. Or maybe Haruna is just guessing. Or maybe Haruna just _knows_. Probably the last one. Haruna always seems to know. It’s weird. He’s…he’s got this sick sixth sense that just seems to _know_ things, _damning_ things. But this is none of his business. None at all.

“Were you thinking of me?” he laughs into the line, letting out another breathy moan louder than the last. “I was thinking of you.”

“No,” Abe lies immediately.

“Wow, that was a quick—mmm—response, sensei. That much, huh? I’m flattered you care.” There’s a chuckle and then a rustle of fabric that sounds like Haruna taking his shirt off. Abe can pick it out probably because he knows the noise well enough already. Which, maybe disgusts him, but also…he looks down over his chest and sees the tent in his sweatpants. “Why don’t you stay awhile? You’re hard, aren’t you?”

The way Haruna says it is derisive; it’s not a question, but a joke. He’s laughing at him. Abe is pissed about it quickly, stepping into yet another of Haruna’s landmines.

“So what?” he hisses without thinking.

“So why don’t we help each other out? Symbiosis and all that.”

“Not symbiotic, _parasitic_ , you leech,” Abe snaps immaturely, feeling the tendons in his neck tighten from his irritation.

“Call it what you want— _oh_. _Yeah_ , right there, _sensei_.” Abe bites his lip so hard that he can taste blood and doesn’t even flinch when the metallic tang spills over his tongue. He debates for several seconds over what he should do. He can hang up right now and get himself off to the lingering sound of Haruna’s voice in his ears, the mocking, knowing tone that promises that he’ll either get him off now or that his memory will get him off. Or, he can just. Keep going. Abe starts to realise how drunk he still is when he realises he wants to keep going. There’s the rationalisation kicking in, saying, “Hey, Takaya, you’ve already gotten this far. Why stop now? Besides, you’ve gone farther with him anyway.” He tries to kick it away, tries to brush it off. He swallows thickly, listens to Haruna’s quiet moans and huffing breaths over the line before he licks his split lip and slides right into Haruna’s plans.

“Tell me what you’re doing,” Abe says quietly, his voice a rumble. He wonders if that was even audible or if it was just a noise after all. Or maybe he’s slurring. He can’t tell. Haruna’s quiet for a while, the only sound his breathing before there’s the barest hint of a victorious chuckle.

“With pleasure.”

iv.

It started with Haruna failing a test. An important test, too. Abe hadn’t known, then. He didn’t know that yes, there was a demon lurking in his class, that he was teaching an incubus. So he did what all good teachers were supposed to do.

“Haruna-kun, would you like some private lessons?”

Abe had considered himself a good teacher. He considered himself a decent person in general, an upstanding citizen who helped people whose cars broke down, who took stray pets to the shelter when he found them, who was relatively friendly with his neighbours and mowed their lawns when he was mowing his own. He did things that teachers should do, he marked fairly, spending a good amount of time on each paper he graded and, though strict with deadlines, was inclined to let things slide now and then. He didn’t play favourites, he didn’t hold petty grudges, he held tutorial sessions outside of his classroom hours and was available in his office afterschool on most days to be contacted by students. And then Haruna came along.

The kid fucked with his vibe from the get go. He was loud in class, talked back, never turned anything in and always showed up late with poor excuses or none at all. Overall, he didn’t care. Abe tried not to care. If he doesn’t want to pass my class, Abe had thought firmly, _Well. You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make it drink._

The private sessions were sort of a last courtesy. He didn’t think Haruna would take him up on them. Abe was set for being brushed off with a smirk, met with those glinting eyes and some sort of vulgar murmur from his mouth like, “Sorry teach, I’ve got people to blow, dicks to see. Y’know.” Abe wasn’t keen on being privy to his student’s sex life. Haruna liked to brag. Haruna liked to brag a lot. Every opportunity, he bragged about his sexual experience. Abe wasn’t anywhere near a virgin, but he was…though he wouldn’t admit it, he was vaguely prudish. This kind of chatter made him wrinkle his nose. But Haruna said nothing of the sort, instead, he’d shrugged and smiled at Abe. Not smirked. Smiled.

“Yeah, that’d be nice actually. Thanks, Abe-sensei.” Abe was puzzled. He was less confused when Haruna had started taking his clothes off about five minutes into the tutoring time. He hadn’t been surprised, at least, but he’d been…Abe looked out of his depth. He looked away as Haruna shoved his shirt off his shoulders, exposing his thin, hickey covered frame to Abe. He had muscle, Abe noted when his eyes involuntarily flicked to Haruna.

“Motoki,” Abe barked, “Put your shirt back on now.” Haruna stood from his chair abruptly, a smirk planted on his lips. Abe attempted to recall the genuine smile he’d made earlier. He’d failed. “Put your clothes on, or I’m reporting you.”

Haruna cocked a smile, unbuttoned his pants and dropped them to a pool on the floor. He was wearing tight, black briefs. Fuck. He was wearing tight, black briefs. He was wearing tight, black—

“ _Motoki_!” Abe’s voice bore zero warning. He stood up as well, his chair skidding back with a painfully jarring noise that made him squint but seemed to be lost on Haruna. Everything was lost on Haruna. He was invincible. Utterly impervious to all of Abe’s attempts to help and warnings.

“Yeah, say my name again. Just like that, _Takay_ —”

“ _Don’t_ ,” Abe snapped his sentence in half, watched his name die on that smirking face as he cut him off. “ _Don’t_ call me that. We’re done here. Get out of my office.”

Haruna didn’t move to collect his clothing. In fact, he made no moves at all, simply stood there with his arms folded neatly over his chest and jutted his hips subtly forward to emphasise the fact that—

“You’re _hard_?” Abe said breathlessly, his throat constricting and his heart hammering in his chest, a flush strangling his neck and cheeks.

“Cheeky that you’re looking, Abe- _sensei_ ,” Haruna’d plastered a shit eating grin on his face and Abe’s hands clenched. He felt like he was going to break something. He felt like he was going to sweep his paperwork off his desk like in the movies in a flurry of loose sheets like rain. He felt like he was going to snap a few pens in half. He felt like he was going to clock Motoki Haruna in the fucking jaw. He felt like he was going to do something awful, terrible, regrettable—

“You’ve got nice hands, y’know, sensei?” Haruna said, stepped in closer and gingerly took Abe’s wrist between his bony fingers.

“What?” Abe said, a look of confusion flickering on his face and a spark where the fingers on his wrist had landed before he thought to recoil his hand to his body.

“You paint or anything? Woodwork? You should do some crafts. Those are some damn nice hands…” Haruna trailed off. And suddenly, he was on his knees.

“What the fuck—” was all Abe managed before Haruna was spooling Abe’s fingers into his mouth, his index and his middle finger, clamping down all the way over the knuckles with his lips as his tongue worked against the underside of the digits. He sucked hard, moving his head until Abe’s neatly trimmed nails pressed into the inside of his cheek, jutting it out obscenely. “Jesus christ—” Abe mumbled vaguely, his head tipped back before jerkily rocking forward.

“Not quite,” Haruna laughed as Abe took a stumbling step away from him, feet tripping over each other as the back of his hand came up to cover the slackened shock on his mouth. Abe looked horrified. Haruna looked amused. “But close enough, right?” Abe’s fingers were sticky with spit, saliva dripping from them, sliding. Haruna licked his lips as he dropped onto the floor, his palms on the old, ugly carpeting as he peered up at Abe through his curtain of dark hair. “What’s wrong sensei? You scared of a little _indecency_?”

“I’m scared of getting _fired_ , more like,” Abe spat indignantly. Haruna crawled towards him slow, catlike, _predatory_. Abe…Abe was caught. He realised it then, standing with his back pressed to the cold metal of the filing cabinet as the handle dug into the base of his spine that this was always Haruna’s intention. This was always the plan. He got played, he fell for it. Maybe he deserved this. Maybe he deserved to lose his job for being a failure as a teacher because he’d gotten hard from the heat of Haruna’s mouth around his fingers and hadn’t recognised any signs of trouble.

“Or maybe you’re just scared that you’ll like it.”

Abe’s memory after that went fuzzy. Somehow, Haruna had gotten Abe to drop his pants into a khaki puddle around his ankles and blown him as Abe gasped, moaned, tugged at his hair and fucked his mouth until he came. There was no warning when he did it, just a choked, pained noise of resignation as his hands fisted tight in Haruna’s hair, holding him in place. Haruna’s fingertips stiffened their hold on Abe’s hips, pressing sure bruises under where the hem of his polo shirt would cover as his throat worked to swallow, nose flaring as he breathed hard and tears bristling at the tips of his lashes. Abe pulled out slowly, his breathing becoming faster and more frantic as the panic set in.

“So,” Haruna had said, using his thumb to swipe a stray drop of come from his chin and licking it off without breaking eye contact, “Do I get an A?”

v.

“I’ve got my hand on my cock,” Haruna says into the phone pinched between his shoulder and the side of his jaw as he jerks himself with one hand, “And I’m about to finger myself with the other.”

Abe still can’t believe he’s about to do this. Sure he’s drunk, but that’s not an excuse. He’s still _cognitive_. Which means, ultimately, he’s still to blame.

“Don’t,” he says, his breathing growing ragged as he fumbles with the tie on his sweatpants, “Don’t, yet.”

“Mm, pushy,” he notes, and Abe can hear the smirk through his fucking cell phone. He wants to smash it right now, wants to hang up on his smug ass. “I like it.”

“Yeah? I don’t care. Take your hands off your cock,” Abe commands, feeling like he should be taking back the control in this precariously imbalanced situation. He feels like he should try and take the upper hand back, somehow. Well, if there were even an upper hand to begin with. He’s not sure.

“And if I don’t?” Haruna says mischievously, though Abe hears all motions stop and can hear the faint dissatisfied sigh of Haruna flopping back down onto the bed motionless, waiting for the next order.

“Then I’ll have to shove you down over my desk and spank you until you learn to fucking listen for once.”

"Oh,” Haruna groans, and then “ _Oh_. Yeah, baby. Come on. Say more.”

“You first,” Abe grumbles stubbornly, giving up on the tie on his sweatpants after a minute and a half and still no luck. He shoves them roughly down his thighs, hears the stitching make an awful ripping noise as it catches over his already spreading legs and he doesn’t care. His hand is clamping over the base of his cock and his teeth are pinching into the swell of his lower lip faster than he can blink.

“Yeah? Aren’t you always telling me to shut up, _sensei_?” Haruna’s laughing again, testing the boundaries, how far he can go and how far he can push Abe right now. Which is, well, not very far.

“You’re right, shut the fuck up.”

“Ooh, more cursing? Abe-sensei, I would have never pegged—”

“I said shut the fuck up.”

There’s nothing but silence on the line for a few seconds. No rustling of fabric or the faint sound of hands roving over slick skin or gasping, shaking breaths. Just silence, like Haruna’s actually complying for once.

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing. Opposite really. Gets me fucking horny.” So much for submission. “I wish you’d say those kinds of things in class. Motoki-kun do your _fucking_ homework. Motoki-kun, come to _fucking_ private tutoring sessions. Motoki-kun, suck my _fucking_ cock under the desk while I teach next lesson.” Haruna laughs and Abe can hear him put his hands back on himself. “Do you wish you were here right now, sensei? Fucking me in my own bed?” There’s a pleased huff as he touches himself, “Or do you wish I were there? In _your_ bed? Now that, _that_ would be hot. Fuck me in your own bed, sensei, so that when you go to sleep, when you do some light little reading maybe brushing up on the books for class, you can only think of the way I scream your name as you drive me into your mattress, my hands fisting in your sheets. I wonder what they smell like. Do they smell like your cologne? Or maybe they smell like laundry because you wash them so often since you’re kinda anal about tidiness—”

“Stop—” Abe says, breathless, “God, just, _stop_.” His breathing is ragged, jarring like shards of glass every time he inhales and exhales. It hurts to breathe, makes him gnaw at his lip to hear that Haruna knows him enough to realise he’s got this thing about cleanliness. He wonders what else he knows, wants to push him to pry him open and find out how much he’s really seen. “That’s enough.”

“Enough? You mean, enough as in for you to get off with? Or enough like, ‘No, Motoki-kun, my delicate teacher sensibilities are inconveniently kicking in again and I feel guilty now, so enough’ kind of enough?”

Abe doesn’t know. He doesn’t know and it scares the shit out of him.

“Okay,” Haruna says, a faint shuffling sound which Abe takes as a shrug. “I won’t say any more. You don’t need to either.” Abe holds his breath during the long pause. “You can just listen. That way you’re not really responsible. ”

That compromise doesn’t make any sense to Abe or release the line of guilt hanging tense above his head, but then Haruna’s gasps filter onto the line about thirty seconds later, loud and long moans that flood Abe’s ears. “Oh, _fuck_ ,” Haruna groans.

Abe exhales, smells the stink of beer still on his breath before he bites his lip and tries to hold out from falling into this snare for as long as he can. He doesn’t resist very long, gripping his cock and tugging in fast and frantic strokes. He grunts against the receiver as he swipes his thumb over the pool of precome leaking from over the head, easing it down to slick himself up. Of course he’s still responsible. Haruna knows he’s responsible too. What Haruna had said was only going to count if he wasn’t going to touch himself. But Haruna knows him, knows how to get under his skin. Abe feels like a mongoose, spine snapping under the pressure of the unhinging jaw of Haruna, body gilded with scales. Abe cups his balls, fingers them roughly like Haruna does and then grinds his palm across the head in tight circles. “Fuck,” he says quietly, the word escaping his lips and lingering in the thick air that he feels is suffocating him. There’s sweat beading on his skin, dampening his sheets and soaking through his light cotton t-shirt, chafing against his back as he writhes across the top of the mattress. Abe plants his feet on the bed, fucks his fist as the phone drops to the pillow and he moves his ear across it to chase the sounds of Haruna’s whines and laughter.

“Close?” Haruna says, and Abe’s eyes squeeze shut. He can feel it, Haruna’s hands on his thighs, his tongue dragging up the underside of his dick and sucking at the crown before dipping into the slit. He presses the pad of his thumb across all the spots Haruna likes to emphasise. (Denies that all the spots Haruna likes to spend time on are coincidentally all of his most sensitive spots. Can’t acknowledge that Haruna knows his body like the back of his hand, knows _him_ like the back of his hand. Knows how to play him like a fiddle and—)

“Yeah,” Abe pants against the phone, a choked sound forcing its way up his throat and over his parted lips.

“Want me to talk you into coming?” Haruna says cheekily, his voice sounding almost as wrecked as Abe’s, strained even through how tinny it sounds from the speakers on Abe’s cell phone.

“No need.” Abe tries to keep his arm steady as he tightens his grip on his dick and fucks into it shallowly, rapidly before he comes across his hand with a moan.

“That’s sexy,” Haruna laughs against the line before his tone returns with the low, sultry flourish designed to lure Abe into a silver cage. As if he weren’t already in it. “You’re gonna make me come, sensei.” His voice is reedy and thin. He sounds winded. Then there’s a sound like the breath being punched from his gut and he moans so loud Abe knows his parents most definitely aren’t home. “Abe- _sensei_ ,” he shouts, and Abe pulls his ear away from the phone to listen to Haruna come from somewhere more acceptable for his eardrum. When he places his head back down, listening intently, he hears pleased rumbles, little mmm’s and chuckles that sound like purrs.

“That was good. I came a lot. Wanna see?”

“Don’t call this number again,” Abe says instead, the pace of his heart slowed down to a jog.

“Got it,” Haruna says, and Abe can still hear the smirk on his lips even through his panting. “See you Monday, Abe-sensei.”

The line goes dead, but then a few seconds later it vibrates in his hand and he almost throws it across the room. There’s a twisting in his gut as he opens the picture message, mouth going dry and involuntarily licking his lips at he looks at the picture of Haruna’s abdomen and his still stiff but softening cock. There’s a puddle of come on his stomach, the head of his cock lying in it. Abe really does throw his phone across the room this time.

vi.

Three days later Abe’s got his detachable house phone balanced between his shoulder and neck and his hand between his legs as Haruna talks him through another orgasm.

“I told you not to call this number,” Abe manages through hoarse exhales.

“You told me not to call your cell.” Haruna muses, and Abe blames the fact that he’s still dizzy from coming when he ignores that Haruna’s nicked his home phone number from somewhere.

vii.

“No,” Abe says sternly, “Absolutely not. Get out.”

Haruna pouts in the passenger’s side of Abe’s car, giving him puppy dog eyes that Abe firmly ignores. “But—”

“I said get out,” Abe reaches over Haruna and unbuckles him before further leaning across his lap to open the car door, pointing out of it and making fierce eye contact. “Out. Now.” Abe watches his back as he retreats from his car before pulling the door shut behind him. Haruna presses his face into the glass, lips and nose smushing up against it and getting smudges on the pane. Abe just got a carwash yesterday.

“Senseiiii.” Haruna’s frown doesn’t move from the glass, smearing some of his spit onto the window and his breath fogging it up slightly.

“That’s disgusting,” Abe mutters, not caring if it was loud enough for him to hear. He hears though. The boy has ears like a dog. It’s disconcerting.

“I am disgusting,” he breaks into a grin, his teeth clacking against the cold glass in a way that makes Abe wince, “And you like it.”

“You _are_ disgusting,” Abe reaffirms, and promptly ignores the latter half as he buckles his own seatbelt and adjusts the rear view mirror.

“Come on, Takaya, my house isn’t _that_ far,” Haruna wheedles, knocking his fist insistently against Abe’s window. He’s incessant. He’s…irritating. He’s under Abe’s skin.

“No,” Abe announces clearly, shifting his car into drive and pressing the button to roll down the window a crack so he can be heard better, “I’m not giving you a ride, so fuck off.”

“Feisty,” Haruna’s lips come over the rim of the window, squeezing into the small gap that rolling it down created. “Get back or I’ll cut off your lips and run over your feet,” Abe grumbles, hands tightening on the steering wheel as he can feel his anger snag the better of him. He makes an attempt to resist.

“Aw, but sensei. If you do that, how am I gonna suck your cock?”

“So you’ve got no qualms about the feet? Fine,” Abe presses his foot to the pedal halfway and the car jumps to life, makes a revving noise that he hopes will frighten Haruna off. It doesn’t. He leans back, his hands fisted in his pockets as he gives Abe a knowing smirk.

Abe pulls away. He pulls away with only a minor internal dilemma about hesitation and blasts out of the parking space without checking to see what Haruna is doing.

Haruna’s fist rapping against his window jars him out of his brooding frown. “You know, it’s dangerous to just stop in the middle of a parking lot.” Abe looks around. He has stopped in the middle of the parking lot, a little over halfway to the proper exit. Haruna looks unruffled and radiates an air of deviancy and it pricks the last semblance of Abe’s sanity as he slams his thumb into the unlock car button and watches the boy saunter around the front of his car. Abe contemplates running him over. He doesn’t think about it for long though, because Haruna is sliding into the seat beside him, his hand skating up Abe’s thigh and his tongue already running over Abe’s lips.

“We’re in the school park—”

“Pull over,” Haruna says against his mouth and Abe parts his lips, fists his hand in the front of his shirt and tugs him in roughly before he lets go and rips the gear shift back into reverse as he pedals quickly into a space. The parking lot is almost empty, but, Abe faintly remembers that there are still some clubs going on now. They might end soon.

“There’s clubs—” he says in protest, though his breathing is heavy and his pupils are blown and it doesn’t really end up sounding like a protest at all. “

Then be fast,” Haruna’s head ducks down between his legs, popping the button on Abe’s slacks with practised ease and undoing the zipper with his teeth and a laugh. “Got any lube in here?” Haruna says when he comes up for air, sounding only mildly ruffled.

“I—why would I—” Abe stutters out, because Haruna’s _tongue_ is dipping into the slit of his cock and pressing hard at the sensitive spot underneath the crown and he can’t really think of something else to say.

“Shame,” Haruna huffs with a half shrug, and then reaches into the pocket of his olive green bomber jacket and fishes out a travel sized packet and a condom. He grins victoriously as he shakes them in Abe’s face, “Good thing I’m a Boy Scout.”

“Ugh,” he groans, cleaving them from Haruna’s grasp and tearing open the condom packet a little more roughly than necessary, rolling it on and carefully checking he didn’t actually damage it in his haste. “Get into the backseat.”

Haruna goes willingly, scrambles over the centre console and shedding his jacket and skinny jeans as he goes. And it’s a shame, Abe thinks, because those skinny jeans _really_ make his ass look good. Abe’s hand connects with Haruna’s ass as he kneels up on the backseat and Haruna moans theatrically, drapes himself out on show and raises his hips higher for him to see. There’s a devilish turn to the corners of his lips and Abe’s tugging off his khaki slacks as he toes off his shoes, ripping his belt free from the loops. He clambers into the backseat as well, squeezing in with Haruna, who is both taller and heavier than him. Abe resents him a little for it.

“I changed my mind,” Haruna singsongs and Abe’s hand crushes the condom wrapper that he realises suddenly he’s still holding.

“What do you mean,” Abe snipes back flatly, struggling to keep his breathing to a normal pace and not to burst a blood vessel. He knows Haruna still wants to get fucked but his mind is too filled to the brim with thick fog and the sight of white teeth to even begin to try and unpack what he wants.

“I don’t think I want you to use a condom after all,” Haruna clarifies as Abe dips two fingers into the sachet and presses them firmly over his hole.

“Don’t be reckless.” Abe’s got two fingers into Haruna’s ass, knows after months of doing this that he doesn’t like slow, doesn’t like bothering with single digits and wants to go straight for the pros. If Haruna had it his way, Abe would start with three fingers, but Haruna’s not having his way, because this is his car and these are his fingers and so two it is and he’ll have to suck it up and fucking deal. He deals fine.

“You’re fingering me in the backseat of your Corolla in the school parking lot and you’re telling me not to be reckless? I think it’s a little late for that, sensei.” And for some reason—although the reason is probably that Abe’s worried his dick’ll fall off if he doesn’t _do_ something about it in the next minute and half—he agrees with him. He rips off the condom, drops it unceremoniously to the carpet of his Toyota, and coats himself with as much of the leftovers from the packet as he can manage.

It takes about 2 minutes to get Haruna moaning loud enough that he needs to press his hand down over the plush of his lips, to feel the indents of his teeth in the fate lines on his palm. The flat of his tongue wets Abe’s hand and he grimaces, winces at the sandpapery edges of it and the gross, slimy feel. What an animal.

“You should come inside me,” Haruna says, as casually as if he were discussing the weather. He doesn’t even sound hoarse for someone who was attempting to scream his lungs out against the skin of Abe’s hand. He doesn’t even sound breathless, the fucker.

Abe’s breath stutters out as, to his chagrin, he does what Haruna asks like always.

viii.

Three months later Haruna graduates. They fuck in Abe’s office and then in Abe’s bed after he treats Haruna to dinner because, despite all the shit he’s pulled on him, the kid deserves it. After all, he managed to pass all his classes. Not with flying colours, not by a long shot, but he passed, and that was it, the end of the book.

“It’s been fun,” Haruna says, exhaling smoke into the ever building smog above the bed and tapping his ashes onto Abe’s duvet. When he doesn’t get a reply, he laughs.

The echoes of it follow Abe into his dreams and when he wakes up, he’s alone with six cigarettes in an empty coffee mug on Haruna’s cold side of the bed.

ix.

Abe’s life goes on. Haruna spends his summer travelling abroad before he starts university in the fall. He posts pictures of it on Facebook which Abe doesn’t see because he declined Haruna’s multiple requests to be friends on the damn thing before he’d graduated. The coffee cup on the night stand on the other side of Abe’s bed is still there, and the cigarettes are spilling over the edge like a muffin top over tight jeans. He wakes up before 9 every day to go for runs and when he gets back he works on lesson plans for several hours and takes a cold shower and a nap before dinner. Every now and then he sees his friends and every now and then they go drinking and every now and then he goes home with some guy so he doesn’t have to wake up in the morning and look at that fucking coffee cup.

His life is routine. It’s pleasant. It’s missing something.

x.

Summer ends and a new set of students come in. They’re all relatively good. Well, in comparison. No one is as problematic or disruptive as Haruna had been in class. Abe’s daily life alters, shifts, but stays the same: a routine. So maybe he can’t go for a run at 9 every morning or take naps before dinner, but he jogs in the evening and sleeps enough hours at nights. He still sees his friends and they still go drinking and he still goes home with guys so he doesn’t have to wake up in the morning and look at that fucking coffee cup. The phone in his office rings and he checks his watch, glad that the parent that was supposed to call is on time. He’d like to leave so he can get his run out of the way, burn off some of the energy in his legs that’s making him feel jittery for some reason, that he hasn’t been able to shake even after months of runs every morning and cold showers every afternoon.

“Hiya,” comes the voice on the line before Abe can even say hello, “Long time no speak, sensei.” There’s a moment of silence where Abe watches the cigarette that was between his fingers smoulder on the linoleum floor of his non-smoking office. “You free tonight?”

**Author's Note:**

> for my dearest darlingest [abe](http://hawke-senpai.tumblr.com) ♥
> 
> thank you so much for reading!
> 
> my tumblr is [here](http://izumykousuke.tumblr.com) if you wanna chat about haruabe or other things!! ♥


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